


Getting Blown On Your Throne Like The Slut You Are

by Kestrealbird



Category: Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex, PWP, Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex, Seriously this is just porn, Throne Sex, also CasGil has monster dick uwu, could be either lancermuid or sabermuid it's up to you, diarmuid is trans as always it's just not mentioned here <3, set in some vague babylonia AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-20 13:48:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30005838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kestrealbird/pseuds/Kestrealbird
Summary: Diarmuid sucks Gil's dick. That's all you need to know
Relationships: Diarmuid Ua Duibhne | Lancer/Gilgamesh | Caster, Diarmuid Ua Duibhne | Saber/Gilgamesh | Caster
Kudos: 12





	Getting Blown On Your Throne Like The Slut You Are

**Author's Note:**

> Continuing my trend of only writing rarepairs here's some mindless smut! I am a terrible smut writer but maybe one day I'll write a sequel where Gil eats Diarmuid's pussy who knows!

There are many thoughts that Gilgamesh does not allow himself to indulge in. He keeps that door in his mind locked shut, the key thrown into the deepest river he can find, never to be considered. Uruk needs him, after all, and he refuses to be distracted by a desire he has not felt since Enkidu shared his chambers, regardless of how often his eyes, almost against his own will, find themselves drawn to Diarmuid’s figure - the cutting edge of his eyes and the serrated curve of his lips - the length of his fingers and the bob of his throat as he swallows water.

And so it leaves him wholly unprepared when Diarmuid’s tongue presses against the blue scales at the base of his cock, eyes half-lidded with mirth as Gilgamesh bites his knuckle to stop himself from bucking his hips. He’s painfully aroused already, he realizes, and it’s a sensation he hasn’t felt in a very long time, so he wills himself not to lose his mind as Diarmuid’s hands press against the inside of his thighs, pushing them apart so he can settle more securely on his knees before Gilgamesh’s throne. 

He lets himself be moved; intrigued, suddenly, to see how far Diarmuid is willing to go before he leaves the room. “If I had known you were an exhibitionist,” Gilgamesh says carefully, “I would have given you something more revealing to wear.” 

Diarmuid chuckles against his skin, the vibrations hitching his breath, and he presses a delicate kiss to the tip of Gilgamesh’s cock, a murmured, “I’d like to see you try,” falling past his lips before he takes the head into his mouth with a pleased hum, Gilgamesh tightly gripping the arm of his throne and stiffening his body to appear as unaffected as possible. 

It’s a challenge, and one that Gilgamesh is more than willing to accept. Diarmuid has very little shame in his choice of dress as is, his robes falling about his shoulders in a tease, and his shirt pressed tight to his body, the neck wrapped around the base of his throat. Still, Gilgamesh has some gossamer fabrics that would be a nice contrast to his darker complexion, the material so thin and light that he would look less sinful naked and stretched out on plush red cushions.

Diarmuid does something with his mouth then that has Gilgamesh cursing in a mix of sumerian and akkadian, and he grips Diarmuid’s hair in a tight fist as revenge, hissing with satisfaction when a strangled groan is his answer. 

He does not buck his hips to make it easier - outright _refuses to,_ in fact - but even if he had it wouldn’t be necessary because Diarmuid knows _exactly_ what he’s doing, when to suck and when to press his tongue against sensitive scales - knows when to dig his claws into the meat of Gilgamesh’s thighs and when to let his hands fall back to the floor to support his own weight instead. 

Verbal encouragments are easy to give and Diarmuid responds with a shudder and a gasp at each one, the teasing glint in his eyes fading into hazy pleasure. He moans when Gil’s fingers scratch into his hair and sighs when the tip of Gil’s shoe presses against his lower abdomen, giving a gentle push just to give him less room to work with.

Diarmuid sucks harder in retaliation, uses his tongue around the head, cold and chilling, and wraps his hand around the base of Gil’s cock to jerk him off in fluid practiced motions. 

Gilgamesh breaks the skin of his knuckle with his teeth, groaning long and deep at his own release, eyes darkening as he watches Diarmuid drink it all down with nary a complaint nor issue. He keeps himself seated, loosening his muscles and stretching his legs, and Diarmuid moves away from him, licking his lips and rocking to his feet with a pleased sound. 

Swiftly, Gilgamesh tucks himself back into his breeches, and when Diarmuid opens his mouth to no doubt bid him goodnight, he utters a simple, demanding, “come here.” 

For the first time since Gilgamesh summoned him here, Diarmuid looks - bewildered. Nonetheless, he does as is ordered of him, slowly, cautiously, and once he is within a good distance, Gil reaches out to snag his wrist and pull him down with a surprised yelp into his own lap. “I am hardly a selfish lover,” he murmurs, Diarmuid’s eyes going wide and his breath hitching sharply in his chest. 

“Oh,” he breathes, stunned, right before Gil captures his lips in a bruising kiss and brings their hips together.


End file.
